


Teamwork

by PimpernelSmith



Category: From Eroica with Love
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:50:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PimpernelSmith/pseuds/PimpernelSmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Klaus fights Dorian, terrorists, and his own superiors. He only loses against one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teamwork

The Major was not particularly surprised to find a perverted thief lurking in his flat when he got home that night. He'd always expected the queer to do that, sooner or later. The surprise was that the queer's purpose was not a perverted one.

"Your chastity is safe, Major," Eroica drawled the instant Klaus caught sight of him and stopped in his tracks. He was lounging gracefully on the couch, which really wasn't designed for lounging. It was designed for sitting up straight. Both the skintight black suit and the bright golden curls were out of place against the dark brown upholstery. "I'm here on business."

"Then you should have brought it to my office." But the Major calmly hung up his coat and put down his briefcase.

"Take a look and you'll see why I didn't." The thief inclined his head toward a sheaf of papers on the coffee table.

Klaus sat in the armchair across from the couch and picked up the sheaf. He was about to make a sarcastic inquiry about where the Mosel's Wehlener Sonnenuhr was until some words on the top sheet caught his attention. Sitting back, he read on, not thinking to light another cigarette when the one he'd been smoking when he came in burned itself down to the filter, almost forgetting the man sitting across from him.

After several pages, he lifted his head. "Who did you steal this from? The SIS?"

Eroica shook his head calmly. "I didn't steal it at all. It was compiled independently by… friends of mine."

"Criminals." It was not a question.

"Signor Volovolonte got a lot of cooperation for me. Organized crime doesn't like terrorism."

Klaus nodded, not even bothering to sneer. "Bad for business."

"Yes. Disrupts the cash flow. Besides, we don't like people to be more afraid of anyone else than of us."

The Major kept reading. It was bank statements, telephone transcripts, airline passenger lists, immigrations records, and some rather interesting receipts. All in all, an impressive documentation of terrorist cells in Europe and England. Cells in every major city, communicating with each other, laundering money, and stockpiling.

When he was finished, he looked up and discovered that it was nearly time for him to go to bed, and that he was hungry. He'd forgotten to have supper. He neatened the stack before rising to move to the kitchen area. "Sandwich?" he asked, opening the refrigerator.

"No, thank you."

Klaus made one for himself and sat back down with it before speaking. "Just why did you bring me these?" he asked.

"I don't suppose you and your band of merry men could lock all these people up."

He didn't bother to express irritation at the whimsical phrase. "You must know better than that." He picked up a half of the sandwich, then dropped it back onto the plate. "I've been trying to get clearance from my superiors to do something about these terrorist cells – you do know most of them are located here in Germany, don't you? – for years now. They keep telling me the evidence is inconclusive and that it would be racist to arrest people for being Muslims." His normally impeccable posture slumped a bit. He felt very old suddenly. "I try to believe they're merely overcautious because they don't want Germany to become a racist country again. I don't think so. I think they're afraid. Even more afraid than they were of the Soviets." He gestured to the sheaf of documents. "I'll show this to my superiors, but it's illegally accumulated evidence of something they don't want to admit exists."

Eroica didn't seem surprised. "That's what I thought." He regarded the Major levelly. "I thought," he said slowly, enunciating each word with care, "that you might be inclined to take care of some of this on your own."

The two men looked at each other. Klaus could not pretend for a moment that he was not tempted. Hadn't he daydreamed about doing just that a thousand times already? And with an ally like the Prince of Thieves—

He looked away and shook his head. "You forget that I am still a man of law. You are too accustomed to doing whatever you like to understand that. I cannot take the law into my own hands this way."

To his credit, Eroica didn't argue or try to persuade him. He merely nodded, his sculpted features sober.

Klaus picked his sandwich up and finally started to eat. "Why are you doing this, anyway? There's no foppish paintings or money to be gotten out of it."

For the first time the thief's face showed some expression: an abrupt, impersonal anger. "You read the papers. These people are trying to destroy my country. They want to blow up my national monuments and kill my fellow countrymen."

"Since when have you been so patriotic?"

"Since July 7, 2005."

The Major only nodded. Events like that tended to awaken sleeping virtues.

Now Dorian was gazing at nothing, his thoughts turned inward. "I never realized it would feel that way, to have my country attacked." His voice was soft, still holding a touch of surprise. "I never realized how personal it would feel." He shrugged. "I didn't know I was a patriot until that day."

"I'll show these papers to my superiors. I won't tell them how I got them; if they think you're being a nuisance, they might ask Interpol to lock you up for them. I'll do my best to make them see reason, but I can't promise a thing." He frowned, suddenly feeling the weight of the shackles which bound him.

"I know. Thank you." Eroica stood up and crossed to the window. "You know where to contact me if you change your mind." He started to open the window.

"You can leave by the door, you know."

The Earl stopped and looked back at him, smiling slightly. A hint of the familiar mischief sparkled in his eyes, startling Klaus. This was the Eroica he knew. "Darling. Someone might see me. And draw conclusions. I doubt they'd think I was here to entice you into acts of vigilantism."

"Go on out the window, then."

With the thief gone, Klaus was alone with the grim new knowledge he'd just acquired. Not that he hadn't known about the network of terrorist cells and funding, but every detail made it more real and ominous. Had he helped bring down the sickle and hammer so that civilization could go up in flames at the point of a scimitar?

He gave the sheaf of papers a rueful look and fetched a bottle of beer. For numerous reasons, his flat seemed darker and quieter than it had before.

***

As he had expected, his superiors were unsympathetic. They were openly suspicious of his lie about how he'd gotten the documentation, but they got little satisfaction from him on that score. Since they already knew he was lying, he saw no point in doing anything but asserting the same lie over and over again. In any case, all it got him was several lectures on tolerance. "Tolerance of people who are trying to blow up civilians?" he demanded, but to no avail. In the end, all he got was permission to place a few more wiretaps, on evidence that would have given any "tolerant" judge, journalist or professor the bends.

He kept on combating terrorism within the limits he was allowed to and telling himself that there were good reasons for these rules, especially in Germany, until the day two weeks later when the Chief summoned him with a request.

"Sit down, Eberbach," the corpulent fool ordered, already looking irritated. When the Major complied, the Chief stalled for a few minutes, scowling down at some papers in front of him, putting off telling him what this was about. The Major was on guard at once. This did not bode well.

The Chief finally drew a deep breath and sat up straighter, squaring his shoulders. Klaus glared at him. He wasn't going to make this easy, whatever it was.

"The Department of Diplomacy has a request for you," the Chief blurted.

"No."

"You don't even know what it is."

"If it was anything I was remotely likely to approve of, you wouldn't be squirming like that."

The Chief set his jaw, though under his jowls the expression didn't look very intimidating. "This is a matter of national security, Eberbach."

"It always is." Klaus kept his face unfriendly, though in fact by this point his curiosity was as piqued as his sense of alarm. What the hell could Diplomacy possibly want from him, of all people?

The Chief steeled himself for the fifth time since the Major had entered his office. "It's about Schloss Eberbach."

Klaus said nothing, waiting.

"All those, those statues of the Eberbach boar."

That was when Klaus caught on. He didn't help his superior out, though. He kept waiting.

"You know that Germany now has many citizens of the Muslim faith, and that pigs are an abomination to them."

Klaus let the silence lengthen enough that the Chief couldn't stand it and had to continue.

"We thought it would be a, a tolerant gesture, and also would, would lower the chances of, of vandalism or other um incidents, if you would have the statues taken down." When the Major still did not speak, the Chief rushed on, "Only the ones that are outside, of course, where passerby can see them. You could still display them inside the Schloss. Um."

After letting the old bastard squirm for a minute, Klaus spoke in a quiet, level voice. "Jews are also forbidden by their faith to eat pigs. No Jew has ever requested that I take down my boar statues. And they certainly are far more entitled to our consideration than Muslims."

The Chief hemmed, hawed, and gave his most troublesome subordinate a worried look. "I know you like plain speaking, Major, so here it is: if you don't take those statues down, it's entirely probable that they will provoke vandalism. Your servants, and anyone who happens to be inside at the time, could be hurt." The Chief knew that danger to the Major himself would be unlikely to move him. A man who'd spent his life facing down the KGB was willing to trade his own life for a principle. The lives of others was another matter.

Klaus let his superior sweat under his steady gaze for a very long minute before picking up the Chief's phone without asking permission. When Agent A answered it, Klaus said, "'S me. Triple the security around Schloss Eberbach within the hour, indefinitely. Also triple the surveillance equipment." He hated the thought of his home surrounded by all those cameras and lasers and strangers, but he never did flinch from necessity. He dropped the phone as A's voice answered, "Jawohl, Major!"

The Chief was trying to look reproachful, but his pudginess made the expression pouting instead. "You do realize that, aside from risking getting your home bombed, which is a historical monument, by the way, you're going to make enemies in high places with this."

"That won't be anything new," Klaus replied.

"And if the newspapers get wind of it!" The Chief cradled his head in his hands. Klaus rose to go without waiting to be dismissed.

For the rest of the day he focused himself ruthlessly on his work, reining in his impatience with the discipline of decades of practice. At the end of the day, he didn't go to his flat as he usually did during the workday. He needed to be in his ancestral home tonight, and not only for the practical purpose of verifying the security measures, though he spent over an hour doing just that before allowing himself to sit down to dinner. He needed the solid walls and centuries-old artifacts – each with its own story – around him, reminding him of what he was fighting for. Fighting not only communists and terrorists, but his own superiors.

The incident preyed on his mind for the next several days. Several times at the Schloss, he found himself gazing out the window at the nearest boar statue, frowning. Even so, he didn't change his mind about Eroica's decent proposal until the day a man from the Bundestag came to NATO's offices with new ideas.

"Try, if it kills you, to be polite to him," the Chief said between his teeth as the pair of them walked to the conference room. Klaus did not deign to answer.

Half a dozen men were privy to the Bundestag member's meeting. After the pleasantries, Herr Flassbinder began, "I think we can all agree that the most serious problem facing us today in terms of national security is terrorism, correct?"

Most of those present made noises of assent. Klaus picked up his pencil and started drawing a disrespectful sketch of Flassbinder.

"The fact is," Flassbinder announced, "we have been going about combating terrorism in entirely the wrong way."

Klaus stopped doodling and looked up.

"What we need, gentlemen, is a radically new approach. Something far more proactive."

Despite years of experience with government officials, Klaus found hope stirring in him. He decided to force Flassbinder to come to a point so that that hope would be nipped in the bud if it had to be.

"Why don't you tell us exactly what you plan to do, sir," he asked.

Flassbinder was a little irked at having his planned speech interrupted, but like the seasoned politician he was, he adapted quickly. "I propose a two-pronged strategy for dealing with terrorism," he announced proudly. "The case must be made to the public, in strong terms, that the military is the worst option with terrorism. We will instead put our resources into intelligence, into infiltration, into breaking up their money and lines of communication, and with politics and diplomacy, effectively isolating the enemy."

The other men present, all of whom were in either the military or intelligence, could only stare at Flassbinder.

It was the Major, naturally, who finally spoke. "That is a fascinating suggestion, Herr Flassbinder," he began. "Let me begin by asking, just out of curiosity, if you have military experience?"

"No, I don't," he acknowledged without embarrassment.

"I see. So you intend to use politics and diplomacy to isolate the enemy. Would you mind telling me why this is suddenly going to become an effective tactic when we've been engaging in this for decades without noticeable effect?"

"But we haven't been using diplomacy! We've just been charging about with guns blazing and-"

"Forgive me," the Major interrupted. Flassbinder's mollification was short-lived, however, as he continued, "I assumed that an elected official would have some rudimentary awareness of recent history. My error."

The other men were wincing, but none of them objected to anything the Major was saying. They were all glad someone was willing to take the heat for telling an elected official he was an idiot, the Major thought sourly.

"I'm quite intrigued by your idea about using infiltration, Herr Flassbinder," the Major continued, his voice lethally smooth. "Why don't you tell me how you think we might go about that?"

Flassbinder's eyes flitted around the room, searching for an ally. Finding none, he replied cautiously, "Well, I really couldn't say, Major. That is your field of expertise, after all."

Klaus smiled. Klaus smiling was not a soothing sight. "How do you think one goes about joining a group like the al-Qeda, Herr Flassbinder?"

Cornered, Flassbinder tried gamely to recover. "Why, I expect one would start by converting - pretending to convert to Islam. And attending mosques frequented by suspected terrorists, in order to make contact with them."

"And then your new friends will invite you to join their infidel-killing club," Klaus supplied. "Do you know the process for joining a terrorist group?"

Flassbinder remained silent, trapped.

"Before anyone is allowed to join, before they are in a position to learn anything of any use, they must prove their sincerity by murdering a few infidels. Are you suggesting that NATO agents do this?"

Flassbinder said nothing.

"And of course, in order to prove their true dedication, usually the targets chosen are not enemy soldiers or agents. Usually they're women and children - you know, helpless people."

The silence when the Major paused was oppressive.

"And the methods of execution of these infidels - I hope you don't imagine that they just shoot them in the head, do you? Where would be the merit in that? No, the deaths of the infidels must be painful and prolonged. Shall I tell you about some of the methods they use?"

Half an hour later, Herr Flassbinder left with his tail between his legs.

"I'm not sure that was wise, Major," the Chief said with regret.

"Mentioning the facts of reality?" Klaus retorted. "Probably not."

"There'll be consequences for this," another of the men, an older officer, said grimly.

Klaus nodded once, more to himself than to the other man. As the elevator doors closed behind Flassbinder, he made his decision.

After dinner that night, he went into the small room off the library that he'd arranged as his private study. It was stocked with the books he had to read to keep up with world events and with the latest techniques, with cigarettes and whiskey, and with a comfortable couch for him to stretch out on when he got worn out from studying too long. Eroica had dropped in on him once, when he'd surrendered to a catnap after hours of smoking and reading newspapers and consulting an alarming book trying to make sense of the whole bloody mess. The idiot thief had been wearing an outrageous hat, with an enormous floppy brim and a couple of red roses tucked into the band, and some kind of drapery instead of a shirt, and he'd come bearing gifts, a bottle of Mosel's and a silly comparison of the bottle's color to Klaus's eyes. Foppish nonsense; Klaus's eyes were more the shade of peas, or of the muddier varieties of jade. It hadn't been one of their more pleasant interludes. They had those sometimes, when the Earl wasn't flirting and Klaus had no immediate reason to yell at him. It happened sometimes when they were working together. It made Klaus reflect that the two of them made a good team, or could have, if things, a lot of things, had been different.

Right now they were going to have to force themselves to have one of those pleasant interludes. The Major picked up the phone and called a number that he'd been given with coy suggestions long ago, one that he knew only one person would answer, no underlings.

"Yes?" Judging from the tone, the Earl knew who it was. Probably had caller ID on his private line.

"I've changed my mind. About the matter in those documents," he added quickly.

Eroica laughed, but it sounded resigned. "I knew that was what you meant, Major. When can you be in London?"

"Late Friday."

"Come to my place in London when you arrive. I'll have fried potatoes and some more interesting reading material for you."

"Good." Klaus hung up without more words.

***

True to his word, the Earl had fried potatoes ready and waiting for him, along with roast beef and German beer. "I don't see any of your team," Klaus remarked as they sat down to dinner. The table was set simply, even casually, without candles, flowers or any other such foolishness. Not only that, for a change Eroica wasn't even dressed foppishly; he was wearing simple slacks that didn't look as if they'd been painted on, a thick white sweater, and no jewelry. Eroica really was bent on being serious this time. Of course, the most spartan clothes ever made couldn't detract from the flamboyant hair or the too-pretty face. Indeed, without outrageous clothes to distract the beholder, his beauty actually showed up even more.

"I sent them on an errand to keep them out of the way," Eroica answered calmly. "I didn't want them involved in this. It's not the kind of risk they're accustomed to."

"You have a mission in mind for this weekend?"

Eroica got up and left the room. He returned with a thick folder and set it beside Klaus's plate. "These are my surveillance records of a house I think is a terrorist cell here in London. I've had cameras on it for two months, and you'll see some illegally acquired information about their doings in that file. I told SIS about it, but you can guess how much attention they paid to me. I haven't been able to figure out just what they're up to," he admitted, "but they've been buying chemicals that go bang when they're mixed together."

"Suspicious purchases," Klaus agreed, scanning the pages. "What do you make of their security?"

"As far as I can tell, it consists of standard locks and large men. Even when most of them go out - and there are about a dozen people living in that house - at least two always stay home to stand guard." Eroica paused. "I could've taken them out with sleeping gas, but frankly, I don't know enough about explosives to be sure I could take their toys away without blowing them up."

"I do."

"I know. Shall I bring my sleeping gas, or would you rather punch them out?"

"I'd rather punch them out."

The Earl smiled, but made no comment.

"When?"

"Tomorrow night. They go out every Friday and Saturday night and commit all kinds of sins. I suppose their only chance of getting into Paradise is killing infidels."

"Sometimes I miss the Cold War," Klaus grumbled. "It's just one damn thing after another. We got rid of the fascists and then it was the communists. We defeated communism and now it's terrorism. You'd think the human race would at least take a break for a few decades."

Eroica smiled, mirthless. "Did you think that after communism collapsed, human nature would improve?"

"If you had asked me that before it happened, I would have said that I knew better. But apparently, I did not." The Major grimaced. "I'm too old for this crap."

Eroica was watching him attentively now. "What do you mean?"

Now the Major wished he'd kept his mouth shut. He frowned at the inch of beer still in the bottle for a minute.

"I just don't have the stomach for another fight," he admitted at length. "I wouldn't have hesitated to die fighting Communism, or neo-Nazis. But now, with these Islamic terrorists… my inclination is to strategize and live to fight another day. The things I did fighting the KGB - I'd never take those risks now. I'm getting old."

"You're getting sensible."

"Same thing."

They were silent for a few minutes. Klaus finished his beer and retrieved another from the refrigerator. When he sat back down, Dorian spoke. "May I ask why you changed your mind?"

"They pissed me off."

"Terrorists?"

He couldn't hold back a short bark of laughter. "My superiors."

Dorian smiled sadly. "A chum of mine, a barrister, said he'd win all his cases if it weren't for his clients."

Klaus stood up. "Thank you for dinner. If it's all right, I'll take the file with me to go over."

Dorian looked up at him, lifting an eyebrow. "I have a room ready for you here."

"I'm staying in a hotel."

"Major, I told you I wasn't going to-" He stopped and returned his gaze to his remaining potatoes. "Suit yourself. You can find your own way out, can't you?"

Klaus nodded once and left the Earl to finish his meal alone. To his irritation, he found that he kept thinking about Eroica's unusually reticent behavior for the entire drive to the hotel, through his shower and the rest of his evening routine. This was the first time since he had met Eroica that he'd escaped an encounter without a single overture. It was rare that Eroica actually dared physical contact, but the verbal offers were never-ending. Even when the thief kept his mouth shut and his hands to himself, his eyes promised everything, and tended to rake over Klaus in a proprietary fashion that was still unnerving, years after Klaus had learned to pretend not to notice it. Perhaps he didn't want to antagonize Klaus while they were on this illicit mission together, or perhaps the threat to his country had depressed him.

Perhaps he had even finally had the sense to give up.

So accustomed was the Major to bracing himself to resist a barrage of flirtation when he saw Eroica, it almost upset his balance to have the thief on his good behavior. Almost.

He went to bed and hummed himself to sleep.

***

The house was in a semi-seedy neighborhood that had once been fashionable; Eroica couldn't restrain himself from moaning a bit about the rundown condition of the houses that had been designed in... some style or other, the Major didn't bother to pay attention to that bit. The area was littered, there was graffiti on the walls and sidewalks and broken glass in the gutters; all in all, an ugly sight.

Dorian had provided a van for their use. Klaus had lifted the hood and discovered that the engine was new and in perfect condition, though the car's body was dirty, dented and scratched. It looked from the outside like it was ready for the junk heap. Dorian had been leaving it parked in different spots near the terrorists' house for weeks so that it would not attract attention. Tonight he parked it a block away from their target and sat in the back as they waited.

They watched the terrorists' house on a small, low-resolution screen hooked up to the miniature cameras Eroica had concealed in various strategic locations. They counted the unkempt young men who exited the house in two large groups. "That's ten of them. We should be left with just two guards inside."

"You're sure there's an even dozen of them?"

"Reasonably sure. Occasionally there'll be one or two more or less. It is possible there's more than two inside, but I'm inclined to think none of them would resist the fleshpots of the West if they weren't taking their turn on guard duty."

They waited a couple of hours, giving the guards time to relax and get bored. At last, they slipped out of the rented room, both of them dressed in black, both armed with the tools of their respective trades.

Dorian made short work of the lock on the back door. He opened it and Klaus strode in. An Arab was sitting at the kitchen table, watching something on an ancient television set. He barely had time to look up in surprise before the Major had shot him in the head, his Magnum coughing through the silencer.

As he'd expected, the noise brought the other guard into the kitchen. The Major shot him too, and he and Eroica set out to search the house.

It was like a fraternity house, littered and dirty. There were newspapers in Arabic and English lying around, several copies of the Koran, and assorted books denouncing America and Israel. But what they were looking for was in the basement.

"You know how not to set it off, right?" Dorian asked nervously as they slowly moved toward the bomb.

"Of course." Klaus studied it grimly. Then he looked around at the large jars and bottles of remaining chemicals. "Take those and put them in the garbage cans by the back door. Make sure you don't put the yellow ones and the clear ones in the same can. When we leave we'll take them with us."

Eroica obeyed, silently carrying the bottles up the stairs while the Major went to work on the bomb.

His plan was simple: he was going to remove most of the explosive material so that it would cause a much smaller explosion than originally intended. Then, he was going to plant a detonator of his own.

Eroica came down for another load of bottles. "How big of a boom was that thing supposed to make?"

The Major did not look up from his work. "I think this was intended to bring down a large building, or perhaps a major bridge."

Eroica shuddered and continued with his task.

The Major finished altering the bomb with plenty of bottles still in the basement, so he joined Eroica in carting them upstairs. They didn't speak, just continued in silence. When they were finished, the Major said, "We'd better check the attic."

All that was in the attic was some rubbish and several years' worth of dust and cobwebs. They descended the stairs, Eroica leading the way. Neither of them was expecting the blow to Dorian's head that felled him.

Klaus did not hesitate before wrenching the club out of the terrorist's hands and punching the man out. The terrorist collapsed, groaning, and was silent. Then Klaus anxiously bent over Dorian, pulling him to a sitting position, his fingers cautiously moving over the thief's scalp, evaluating the injury. There was no blood, just a very small lump.

Reassured, Klaus breathed again and sat back a little. And looked at Dorian. At the bravest, most beautiful, most aggravating man he had ever known.

***

Dorian's eyes blinked open, and for a moment he was certain he must still be asleep. And dreaming. Because Klaus was only a few inches away, crouched on one knee, looking at him as if he'd just received an epiphany.

Dorian realized the Major was supporting him when he felt Klaus's hand shift on his ribcage. Klaus's gaze was still riveted on Dorian's face, and in it Dorian saw a hint of something he had never expected to see there: fear.

He could see that Klaus couldn't take the next step, so he cast aside doubt, leaned forward, and pressed his lips to Klaus's.

He expected the little start of the Major's body. He expected the chary touch of that large, strong hand along the side of his face. And he expected the response of Klaus's lips, at first uncertain, then abruptly more confident. No, not confident. Passionate.

And he wasn't at all surprised when Klaus's kisses swiftly grew more demanding, or when Klaus's fingers combed inexpertly through his hair and then roamed down his back to his waist. Or when Klaus's hands urgently found their way under his shirt and Klaus's mouth devoured a fiery trail down his throat.

And when Klaus pushed him onto his back on the floor, pillowing Dorian's head on the crook of his elbow, Dorian could only give in. Some tiny part of his mind was shouting questions and doubts, but he could not slow this down for the world. There was no more need for words, not when Klaus's tongue found its way into Dorian's mouth and his knee wedged itself between Dorian's legs. Everything was understood between them now. And it was so right, so very very right after all this time, it was impossible to question. Dorian moaned, returning his love's kiss and holding him tightly. If Klaus thought he was getting away now….

"You Western infidels," the terrorist groaned, starting to sit up.

"Scheisse!"

Dorian couldn't have put it better himself.

The Major sprang away, and one second later was on his feet with his gun drawn. His hair was still dishevelled, and Dorian had pulled his shirt tail partly out of his waistband. He dispatched the half-conscious terrorist swiftly. Then he looked at Dorian.

"I thought you said there were only two guards," he said.

"Usually there are," Dorian replied shakily. "Sorry."

The Major had already turned on his heel and was dragging the third terrorist to the basement stairs. Dorian rose, his heart still pounding. When Klaus came back up, each of them took one of the dead terrorists in the kitchen and dragged them down to the basement. Dorian had never handled a dead body before. He was vaguely surprised that it didn't bother him more. He followed the Major back up the stairs.

"Get one of these trash cans," the Major said over his shoulder. He grabbed the heavier one and stalked out to the van. Dorian took the other and followed.

Then they went back to waiting. Dorian forced himself not to mention what had happened. He felt certain that would ruin his chance of finishing what they had finally started.

The other ten returned to the house. Klaus gave them a couple of minutes before pressing the detonator. Dorian couldn't help flinching as the remains of the bomb demolished the house and everyone in it.

He started the engine. "What are we going to do with these chemicals?"

"I'll take care of them."

"Useful to have a man in the Bill on your side sometimes."

Klaus snorted. Dorian maneuvered the van into the garage and lowered the door. He looked at Klaus.

The Major did not meet his gaze. "I'll come back in the morning to collect the chemicals." With that, he got out of the van quickly and strode to his rented Benz.

Dorian forced himself to remain silent. If any part of Klaus was hoping Dorian would stop him, he was going to learn how disappointment felt.

For a little while.

***

Klaus couldn't stop thinking about it. That moment.

It had felt so damned good.

He had always known it would. That was why he had never allowed himself any indulgence. Never. If they hadn't been interrupted, he wouldn't even have hesitated to - he stopped that thought carefully. If he allowed himself to think about it, he wouldn't have a chance of resisting.

Assuming he had a chance as it was.

He wasn't particularly surprised to find Eroica waiting for him in his hotel room.

"Get out."

"You don't want me to leave," Dorian chided.

Well, Klaus hadn't sounded convincing to himself. No reason Dorian should believe him.

He thought about seizing the thief and tossing him bodily out the door, but sensibly realized that this plan would be derailed at the seizing part. Instead he drew his Magnum. "I said get out."

Dorian scarcely glanced at the weapon. "That would be more convincing if I believed you would actually use it."

"Don't test me."

Dorian shook his head slightly. "You won't shoot me." He stepped closer. Klaus backed away.

"Stop," Klaus heard himself say, and realized that the world had turned upside down. Had he ever asked for mercy in his life? Never. Not when he had been small and his father was angry with him. Not when enemies had guns trained on his head. Not until now.

Dorian's hand lightly touched Klaus's, gently pushing the Magnum down. Klaus's finger twitched, and he abruptly turned away and put the gun on the dresser. This was too dangerous.

He stood with his back to Dorian, tense, expecting at any second a touch, an embrace. Instead Dorian stayed where he was, and spoke softly.

"What will you do after I leave?"

And instantly Klaus knew that he would spend the entire night awake, probably pacing the room, chain-smoking and thinking of what he could be having, right at that moment. And it was anyone's guess if he would be able to resist at last reaching for the phone, dialing a number, stammering an embarrassed invitation-

"Damn you," Klaus muttered as he turned and pulled the other man into an embrace. He bent Dorian's head back and claimed his mouth, and within seconds they were right where they had left off.

Now that they had begun, Klaus found that he had no more trepidation, only eagerness. God, this was good; it felt healthy and powerful and energizing. None of the internal alarms that had always protected his chastity in the past were going off, even though they all should have been ringing frantically, because nothing was held back now, Dorian's hands and mouth were everywhere and Klaus didn't even resent the presumption that he had a right to touch him, all over, and when Klaus reciprocated, it didn't feel even a little odd, just right, as if he were an animal staking out its territory, as nature intended.

He had never allowed himself to think that Dorian was beautiful, but he had known it. Considering the scanty or skintight clothes he wore, there was no avoiding knowing that his body was lean and toned. Sometimes a glimpse of that muscle surprised Klaus, when he got too used to focusing on the flamboyant hair or the foppish clothes. Fop the Earl indubitably was, but he was just as indubitably a man, with the classical body of a Greek statue. The show-off knew it, too, smiling confidently as Klaus removed the tight black clothes to reveal that perfect golden body. And Klaus couldn't help staring, now that he was finally allowed to look. And touch. And taste.

It was pleasurable to nuzzle the Englishman's neck, to lightly touch his tongue to the smooth skin, but even better was the way it made Dorian gasp and clutch him more tightly, pressing urgently closer. He stepped up the assault and after another minute had the gratification of seeing Eroica lose his usual self-possession entirely. Dorian was clinging to him as if he'd fall over if he didn't, and all it had taken was the movement of Klaus's lips and tongue on his throat. Klaus found himself marvelling that he'd lived this long without this; even the sound of Dorian's ragged breathing was as heady as a drug.

He was smugly enjoying Dorian's reaction to having his collarbone nibbled when Dorian recovered enough to slide his hands under Klaus's shirt, tugging his undershirt out from his waistband and running light fingertips all over his back, his chest. It was a simple touch, not even to the areas he'd always guarded from the thief, and yet it was electric. Before Klaus knew it, he was too dazed to continue his conquest of his thief's skin and found himself standing still and receptive while Dorian divested him of shirt and undershirt. A moment later, Klaus's back was pressed to the wall while Dorian's tongue did things to his nipples that exposed his own efforts as those of an amateur.

He closed his eyes and for a long time, the universe consisted of a swirling red darkness and that deft touch on his body. As if of their own accord, his fingers twined themselves in Dorian's hair, which was very soft, very silky.

His daze cleared partly when Dorian started undoing his trousers. He opened his eyes, vaguely surprised to find that he wasn't putting a stop to this, not even when the thief's hand stroked over his groin, just briefly, and demonstrated that there were entire new realms of sensation he hadn't even dreamed of yet.

But when Dorian reached for the elastic on his shorts, Klaus emerged from his trance and reclaimed the initiative. He wasn't going to be the first one naked. He pulled off Dorian's tight black pants, a little clumsily because he'd never undressed another person before, but Dorian wasn't complaining. He wasn't surprised to learn that Dorian wore briefs, not that he had ever actually thought about it, but it was like him. The deep blue color and satiny material didn't surprise him either. The way the fabric felt under his hands was another matter. He indulged himself in exploring this, molding his hands over Dorian's taut buttocks and narrow hips, before slowly moving his hand toward the erection straining against the blue satin.

Dorian stood very still and silent, his eyes fastened on Klaus's face as he allowed Klaus to explore his body. His only movement was the heaving of his chest as he panted, dark-eyed with lust. When Klaus's hand slowly closed around his cock, he pressed his lips together and whimpered softly, his eyes half-closing.

He stroked, gently at first, and was rewarded by Dorian's moaning and closing his eyes. Only now did Klaus realize how much he had always wanted to do this.

Klaus's curiosity and hunger overcame his embarrassment and he reached for the waistband of the thief's underwear. Klaus swallowed and eased them down over Dorian's narrow hips, revealing dark gold curls and then a hard, erect cock in perfect proportion, as beautiful as the rest of Dorian. Dorian stepped out of his briefs and then stood still, watching Klaus with bated breath, as Klaus experimentally wrapped his hand around him, touching the bare skin.

"Klaus…." Dorian's fingers were gently tugging the elastic on his own shorts (proper white cotton boxer shorts, of course, not foppish briefs). Klaus couldn't help tensing, but it would be absurd to delay now; he let Dorian pull them down. The thief sank to his knees as he removed them, alarming Klaus with the wondrous possibilities of that position, things that even now he couldn't dare to think about. But for the moment, Dorian was lost in rapt contemplation of Klaus's erection; Klaus could feel his warm breath on his skin.

After a moment, Dorian met Klaus's eyes… and grinned. Klaus promptly flushed red as a beet, but thankfully Dorian didn't make any silly jokes. Klaus had had enough of that in locker rooms over the years. Dorian just raised a hand and began artfully caressing him, gently sliding his foreskin back and forth over his shaft a few times before leaning closer. Klaus still didn't really believe Dorian was really going to do it, but a moment later his cock was engulfed in warmth that was more blissful than he had ever imagined that anything could be. The tiny corner of his brain that still retained some rationality wondered if Dorian was doing this to ensure that Klaus wouldn't back out now, because to walk away from this, he would have to be literally made of iron.

When Klaus started involuntarily rocking along with the movement of Dorian's mouth, Dorian rose to his feet, took Klaus's hand, and backed toward the bed. He reached back with his free hand and pulled the covers back without looking away from Klaus, then lowered himself onto the sheets in a move so graceful it had to be practiced. Klaus didn't think about that; he obeyed Dorian's gentle tug and joined him on the bed, though perhaps with less grace.

Dorian immediately pressed against him, and for a moment the shock of their naked bodies together, their bare skins touching from head to toe, had Klaus frozen. Dorian wound his arms around him and kissed him again, and for what felt like hours they kept on kissing, their hands all over each other.

Eventually Dorian gently pressed his shoulderblades onto the mattress. Klaus might have felt nervous about this if Dorian hadn't immediately started kissing his way down Klaus's neck, pausing to tongue his nipples. Klaus arched up into the touch, unable to believe how it felt, how incredibly good it felt. How had he resisted this for so many years?

Klaus could have spent days feeling Dorian's lips and tongue on his nipples, but at length Dorian began to kiss his way down Klaus's stomach, and then continued where he had left off. Klaus found himself gasping and moaning shamelessly, and he couldn't even care. His hands tangled themselves in golden curls as he surrendered to that shatteringly sweet sensation.

He thought he was going to have heart failure when he climaxed, and it was only after some time that he was able to open his eyes and meet the satisfied gaze of his beautiful thief. Without reflecting, he pulled Dorian in for a kiss, and then realized that he was tasting himself on the thief's tongue. He should have been horrified. He instead felt a dark, hot pleasure at the thought.

When their lips parted, he slid his arms around the thief and pulled him close. A hardness against his thigh reminded him that Dorian had not yet had his satisfaction. He hesitated.

"Do you want me to-" he began, but couldn't bring himself to say the words. It would probably be easier to do the deed.

Dorian regarded him shrewdly. "You're not ready yet," he said softly, to Klaus's relief. "But – if you would-" Dorian took Klaus's hand and began caressing it, rhythmically, and he could make even that seem like the height of glorious indecency. Klaus's eyes widened as he grasped what the other man was requesting, but this he could do. He nodded once, and Dorian immediately rolled onto his side, facing away from Klaus, spooning up against him. Klaus put his hand on Dorian's thigh, a little nervously, and slowly moved it toward Dorian's erection.

Dorian snuggled even closer. "Just do what you do for yourself, love," he whispered.

Klaus snorted before he thought better of it.

Dorian's hand shot out and captured Klaus's wrist. "Good God. Don't tell me you don't even have sex with yourself."

Klaus snorted again. "Protestants," he grumbled. No wonder they never produced any saints, they had no self-control.

"Never?" The elegant English voice was incredulous.

"Well, I did a couple of times when I was a teenager," Klaus confessed. "You can't help it then."

Dorian twisted away to look at him, horrified. "You're not serious. You don't even masturbate?"

Klaus scowled at him impatiently. "What would I think about?" he pointed out.

Now the idiot thief actually looked sorry for him. He kissed him again. "Oh, darling," he sighed. "You have missed out on entirely too much. I am going to have to make it all up to you."

Klaus chose not to continue that line of discussion. Instead he manhandled Dorian back into position and wrapped his fingers around Dorian's cock, which had the desired effect of making the thief stop talking. Klaus hadn't done this for himself in years, but it wasn't complicated and he wasn't playing to a critical audience; before long, Dorian was writhing and gasping against him, pleading as if he thought Klaus might stop, thrashing about as he attained his release.

"I love you," Dorian moaned when he was able to breathe again. Klaus folded his arms around him protectively, but said nothing.

Some time later, with Dorian's tousled curls nestled on his shoulder and the sweat drying on their skin, Klaus returned to reality.

And the reality was that he had now put his career, his reputation, his family honor, and possibly even his life in the hands of a hedonistic criminal.

Not to mention my heart- But he dismissed that thought quickly.

He inhaled Dorian's cologne. That scent had come to mean all sorts of things to him. Temptation. Forbidden pleasures.

But no longer. Klaus was honest with himself. He had never been able to afford being otherwise. He wouldn't be able to summon the will to resist, now that he knew how it felt.

They went to sleep without saying another word.

***

When Dorian opened his eyes the next morning, Klaus was emerging from the bathroom, toweling his hair, another towel fastened around his waist. Usually Dorian lolled in bed drowsing for a while, but this morning he was wide awake at once. He sat up, automatically running his fingers through his mussed hair as he tried to think of the perfect thing to say, romantic but not too mushy, something that would consolidate his position in the Major's bed.

Klaus lowered the towel and looked at Dorian. "I ordered breakfast," he said.

Dorian smiled as if breakfast was a Bougeareau behind an unlocked window.

Klaus couldn't hold that radiant gaze, but he added, "Why don't you take a shower before it gets here." He went to the closet and reached for a shirt, but Dorian deftly plucked it from his fingers and draped one of the hotel's bathrobes over his arm instead.

"Don't bother to get dressed, love, it won't be worth the trouble."

"What?"

"I'm going to drag you back to bed as soon as we've eaten," Dorian clarified.

"Oh."

They engaged in desultory conversation as they ate, as if they had had dozens of morning afters already. They had had so many fights over the years, so many assaults and shouting matches and devious pranks, that treating this calmly as a routine event was the most apt way to underscore its importance. Dorian was itching to demand promises, but he knew that forcing Klaus into a "relationship discussion" would be counterproductive at the least.

When Klaus pushed his plate away and lit a cigarette, Dorian suspected him of stalling, so he took the direct approach. He neatly dabbed his own mouth, slid from his chair down to the floor, and knelt at Klaus's feet beneath the table.

"What-" Klaus began, but stopped when Dorian started kissing his knees and caressing his thighs. But of course his proper German couldn't engage in debauchery at the breakfast table. Klaus paused only long enough to stub out his cigarette before he leaned down to take Dorian's arm and draw him out from under the table and to his feet, and from there toward the bed.

Dorian slid the robe off Klaus's shoulders and dropped his own to the floor, raining kisses on the other man's neck. Klaus seemed actually surprised at the sensations the kisses spread through his body. This was why Dorian had always preferred inexperienced lovers; everything was new and miraculous to them still.

He couldn't get over how beautiful the man's body was. He had divined a sexy muscular shape beneath the Major's sharply pressed suits, but Klaus had always kept so carefully covered up. Dorian couldn't imagine why; that body was nothing to be ashamed of. As might have been expected, he had quite a few scars. At least one of them was definitely an old bullet wound. Dorian caressed them all. Sometime he would ask Klaus how he had gotten each of them.

Klaus took him by the shoulders and pushed him back a little. Setting his jaw like a man determined not to be reasoned with, he said, "Dorian."

"Yes?"

"You understand that we are going to have to keep this a secret."

Dorian smiled sadly. "Yes, my love. When others are around, I shall have to keep hopelessly flirting and you will have to keep calling me nasty names." He twisted out of Klaus's grip and pulled his lover close, forcefully. "And when we're alone again," he breathed against Klaus's mouth, "you'll tell me how much you didn't mean it."

Klaus surrendered to the kiss, but then took Dorian by the shoulders again. "You have never struck me as the sort of man who was inclined to monogamy. But from now on, you shall have to be."

Dorian was annoyed. "I've been faithful to you for the last ten years, Klaus. Why would I start running around on you now that we're finally sleeping together?"

"You've what?" Klaus was staring. His grip on Dorian's shoulders tightened.

"I couldn't settle for anyone else anymore." Dorian shook his head slightly. "I thought you knew. I know NATO keeps a dossier on me; I presumed my love affairs, or lack thereof, would be mentioned."

"They were. I was careful not to read those parts."

"Jealous?" Dorian challenged.

Klaus's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Good." Dorian clasped Klaus's wrists and backed toward the bed. They stretched out on their sides, hands and mouths exploring each other's bodies. Dorian was still drunk on the freedom to touch that beloved body at last. And Klaus seemed just as drunk, gasping and groaning at every new move. How had a man with this kind of passion in his blood held onto his chastity for so long? It was incredible.

When they found themselves grinding together, Klaus seemed to put a forcible grip on himself and pull back, propping himself on his elbow. Dorian was panting, but laid back and listened. And here Dorian had thought he should avoid talking about their new relationship. The Major, it seemed, had a great deal to discuss.

Klaus had set his jaw again. He frowned down at Dorian. "You know that I have never done any of this."

"Women?" Dorian asked gently.

As he expected, Klaus shook his head. "No," he said quietly, looking away.

Dorian reached out and caressed Klaus's face. He could scarcely contain his triumph. His beautiful Major was his and his alone.

Still looking away, Klaus ground out, "What I am trying to say is… I don't really know how to do this."

Dorian couldn't help smiling, but he said softly, "Klaus. It doesn't matter, truly. It isn't complicated, I promise." Klaus probably wouldn't believe him, but it was the best he could do to reassure him for now. "I'll take care of everything. Show you everything. Whatever you want to do." He moved closer and dropped his voice. "What do you want to do?"

Klaus's eyes met his, but of course he was too embarrassed to say anything.

"We can do what we did last night," Dorian murmured, though he had other plans. "Or we can do something else. Do you want to fuck me?"

Klaus's eyes widened at the blunt phrase, but he gave a single, stiff nod.

Dorian kissed him. It was a good way to get over an awkward moment, which apparently it was for his almost-virgin lover. Then he pushed Klaus onto his back and reached for the bottle of lotion he'd placed on the nightstand. He began slicking Klaus's cock, watching his lover's face. At first Klaus watched him, but it wasn't long before the sensations overpowered him and he closed his eyes and started groaning, hands fisting in the sheets. Dorian watched joyfully. He'd like to see the Major start discussing their relationship again now.

When Klaus was ready, Dorian straddled him and slowly, rapturously, impaled himself upon him.

Klaus closed his eyes, gripping Dorian's hips with iron hands. "Dorian…." he groaned.

"Klaus," Dorian whispered in return, and began, greedily, to move.

He had waited years for this. No other act could compare, no other gave the same feeling of genuinely merging with one's beloved. He felt as if he could read Klaus's thoughts, feel his sensations like his own. He tightened his inner muscles to squeeze Klaus, hard, and Klaus bucked up satisfyingly into him in return.

A moment later, Klaus had grasped him even more tightly and changed their positions without breaking the connection, putting the Earl on his back where he could pound into him more effectively. The Major learned fast. Dorian moaned and wound his arms and legs tightly around his beloved, and surrendered to the fresh assault.

They grappled together breathlessly, their fingers digging into each others' flesh. Dorian's back arched as the sensations gathered and fed upon each other until they exploded within him, making him cry out shamelessly. A moment later, Klaus gave a choked gasp into his ear, pressing into him desperately. Then they both collapsed, their arms draped bonelessly over each other, lacking the energy to really embrace.

They remained in that contented state for a very long time, just lying together, experiencing the sensation of their skins touching. They drowsed in each other's arms.

Eventually Dorian murmured reluctantly, "I don't know about you, but I'm getting hungry."

Klaus nodded. "Order something for us." He went into the bathroom to wash up. Dorian rolled onto his stomach to reach the phone, called room service and ordered sandwiches. Klaus returned, retrieved his robe from the floor and put it on. "I haven't seen the papers today," he remarked, and turned on the television to find a news program.

"Schiesse."

Dorian looked at the screen. "Good God. Where is that?"

"Shh."

They sat on the bed watching until the details of the newest attack were revealed, and the likely suspects, an apparent offshoot of Al-Qeda. Then Klaus found his cell phone and called his office.

"Major!" It was A. "Have you heard?"

"Just now. I'll return to Bonn at once."

"I'll arrange a sooner flight for you, sir. There might be delays, though; they'll increase security at the airports."

"Wait, never mind that. I'm in England, I'll make that verdammter pervert lend me his zeppelin. Make sure they know to clear his flight."

"Yes, sir!"

Klaus turned the phone off and looked at Dorian, awkward. "Ehm, I didn't mean that."

Dorian held his gaze. "I know. This is how it's going to have to be."

The Major nodded, looking at the flowery pattern on the bedspread.

"But no, I won't lend you my zeppelin. I'll fly you over myself. I might be useful." Besides, I'm not letting you out of my sight until I'm sure of you, he didn't say aloud.

But perhaps Klaus sensed it, because he looked at him. "Are you afraid I am going to leave you?"

"Are you going to leave me?"

"No." Klaus frowned and seemed to debate with himself before he hesitantly asked, "Do you still feel the same?"

Dorian put his arms around Klaus's neck and looked into his eyes. "I still love you. Madly. I'll never let you go." It seemed the proper thing to do then was to kiss, so they did. When they were done, Dorian took the plunge before he could lose his nerve. "Do you love me?"

"You know the answer to that."

"I want to hear you say it."

Klaus studied him for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision.

"Not now. Not like this. You've waited long enough."

Dorian went over that in his mind a couple of times. It still didn't make sense.

Apparently his confusion was evident in his face, because Klaus went on. "You deserve what you wanted." He looked away for a moment, finding the right words, then back to Dorian. "The Chief was after me not long ago to take leave. As soon as this current incident is resolved, I will take it. Spend it with me." He cleared his throat. "Reserve some decadent luxurious lodgings in whatever place you fops consider romantic, Italy or the South of France. Wherever you wish." Klaus was beginning to look embarrassed, but soldiered on. "You can have champagne and fine words there."

Dorian could feel a wide smile blooming on his face. "And here I thought we'd never have a happy ending."

Klaus half-smiled. "Is that what this is?"


End file.
